


feet be on the pavement

by chalmskinn



Series: must be perfect timing [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bananas, Blow Jobs, Bucky smokes too much, First Kiss, Frottage, Jealous Bucky Barnes, Jealousy, Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Semi-Public Sex, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27662944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chalmskinn/pseuds/chalmskinn
Summary: The sound of his clear chest makes him forget about his damp sock, the dripping ceiling, and the implied homosexual relationship that the tired mattress he is sinking into could represent. He is warm.A regular day in October. Except it's hot. And the ceiling's leaking.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Male Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: must be perfect timing [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022694
Comments: 15
Kudos: 64





	1. this is an occasion, ain't it?

There’s a drip dripping on Bucky’s sock. He dreamily reasons that it’s been going all night, and he moves his toes in his socks, and yes, the entire sock is sodden. The warm sun is kissing his eyelids though, and that helps him open his eyes.

He looks straight up, and there’s the drip. A nasty grey patch on the ceiling, directly at the foot of their mattress. He hates getting fresh with the landlord, but it’s Steve’s health, and he can’t sit here in silence with a wet sock. He also dreads the idea of the landlord coming in, making assumptions when he sees one mattress. He could talk his way out of it - they are broke, but still. He knows what he wants the mattress to mean, even if it doesn’t.

The apartment isn’t silent, because Steve’s humming and pottering around, and not coughing. The sound of his clear chest makes him forget about his damp sock, the dripping ceiling, and the implied homosexual relationship that the tired mattress he is sinking into could represent. He is warm.

Steve’s made coffee. The smell gets stronger the closer Steve gets to Bucky. He puts the coffee down on the floor beside Bucky, and sits at the end of the mattress. “You got work today, Buck?” Bucky rubs his eyes, and slides up, back against the wall. His watch says it’s five minutes past seven. He looks out of the window, and the sun is already fairly high in the sky. “It’s real warm out today - sat in the window and drank my cup, it was nice. Felt normal. You want yours?”

Bucky nods, and Steve gets up, handing him the lukewarm, chipped coffee cup. He takes a long sip, and smiles. “Night shift. Five ‘til one, baby.” It’s really warm, so he hands his cup back to Steve, and takes his shirt off. Steve’s eyes dart around, and Bucky notices him press his lips together hard. He folds his shirt, and drops it to his lap. “What’s the plan for today, Stevie? Livin’ full and livin’ free?”

Steve chuckles quietly, and looks up. “Didn’t think you’d be off, so I was just gonna clean the apartment. There’s a drip on the ceiling, was gonna speak to John about it, see if he knows where it’s comin’ from.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, “Well that sounds like an absolute blast, Stevie, don’t let me stop- John? Who?” He reaches his hand out, and does a come-hither motion with his fingers. Steve doesn’t notice. Bucky leans forward and brackets his hands around the cup and Steve’s hand, loosening Steve’s grip on the cup. His free hand lingers a little on Steve’s, and his rough fingertips graze against long artist’s fingers. “Is our landlord called John? I don’t know any Johns around here, you gotta help me out.”

“He’s the Italian guy from upstairs. He’s got the nice clothes - you know him. He’s pretty handy.” Bucky raises one of his eyebrows. John’s got broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and thick black hair. His eyes are like caramel. “I can ask him tonight, get him to come and look at it while you’re out at work.”

He swallows his sip of coffee, and laughs. “Nah, don’t worry, Stevie. I’ll see if Beth wants to grab a snow cone or somethin’. Not sure what time she got school at though.” He thinks. “Hey, you know when the typing school opens?”

“No, sorry, Buck.” Steve looks disappointed. “Really, I don’t have to get John to come over today. We can do something. Don’t have to be a snow cone, but we can go out.”

Bucky kisses his teeth, and looks down at his hand, pretending to inspect his nails. “Pretty set on seeing Beth now.” He laughs to himself, “Maybe she’ll let me get in her panties.” He looks at Steve, “Maybe you’ll let John get in your panties.” Steve’s lips part, and he flushes, stuttering out a rebuttal. “Nah, nah, cruel fuckin’ joke. Sorry, Stevie. I know you ain’t like that.”

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole, you know that?” He looks annoyed, and Bucky feels bad. “Horny fuckin’ bastard, all you think about is getting in that girl’s underwear. Doubt she’d wanna go anywhere near your dirty downstairs.”

“Wanna get a snow cone, Rogers, or no?” Bucky leans forward, and picks Steve’s chin up with his hand. He can feel his teeth grinding against each other. Steve’s glower terrifies him, makes him think he’s gonna get punched in the face. “Better yet, I’ll treat you to an ice cream. Only the best for my best guy.” He grins, toothy. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Two scoops, you jerk. Chocolate and vanilla.”

“Then I can’t have any, you punk.” He flicks Steve’s chin. “Selfish boy, aren’t you?” Steve pushes his hand away, and Bucky follows the pushing hand. Once he grabs ahold, he shakes it, “let me have ice cream too! Please!”

“One scoop each. Swap halfway though?”

“I don’t mind just havin’ a lick of yours.” Bucky stops shaking Steve’s hand. Steve’s still flushed, but less out of embarrassment. The flush sits like the pink of a ripe peach, just at the top of his sharp cheekbones. Bucky finishes his coffee, and looks him dead in the eye, his hand still holding onto Steve’s. “Johnny boy gonna be okay if you blow him off?” 

Steve pulls away from Bucky and stands up, taking the cup from his hands. “He can come over when you’re at work, Buck. He’ll help with the drip.” He crosses his arms against his narrow chest, the cup hanging loosely. “You can’t pretend your sock ain’t wet.”

His sock is wet. He scoffs, and rolls his face into his thin pillow. “Go wash up, I’m buying you ice cream.”

Steve pffts. “Yeah, yeah. You smell like a ceiling, fuckin’ jerk.”

“Best ceiling you’ve ever smelled.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's been four years lol, but i'm back at it. i've forgotten how to write in the past tense, but i read my old work, and the first part of this series is the only past tense i've written in years - i blame writing plays tbh.
> 
> anyway. title's from conversation part 1 by mac miller. i'm aiming for this story to be 3 parts. i'm on holiday until dec 2nd, so it's giving me something to do.
> 
> sorry if this is dull, i'm just trying to find voices again.
> 
> love ya x


	2. it's just a conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Bucky laughs quietly. He finishes the banana in one mouthful, and throws the skin to the ground. He hopes no one trips on it in the morning._
> 
> Bucky gets some bananas, and chats with a charming man after work.

They’ve got a shipment of bananas in from Costa Rica, and all the guys he’s working with turn into fucking babies when someone says they’ve seen a spider the side of a cat. Those fucking spiders could stop a Buick. So he gets on with it. He’s wearing his gloves and his boots, and although it’s stupid hot, and his Brylcreem is catching at the base of his skull (not an unusual occurrence, but never nice), he knows that it’s gotta get done, or he’s not going home, and he certainly isn’t getting paid, which means Steve doesn’t get his medicine. He’s gotta get on with it. 

They make quick work of the bananas. They don’t talk much today, it’s too hot, and they want to get home before the predicted one am. They finish the job at quarter to twelve, and they sit, legs hanging off the sides of the docks. The water is blacker than hot tar below their dangling feet. 

Bucky lights a cigarette, and Frank, his supervisor, looms over him. He sees the end of a cigar fall to the ground beside him, and Bucky offers up his lighter. He hopes there’s enough fluid in it for the guy to light the cigar. He hopes there’s enough fluid in it to take him to November. Steve hates him stealing the matches from the kitchen.

“Good job today, Barnes. You guys are gettin’ real quick.” The guy sitting next to him turns to look at Frank. “You too, Joe. Can’t beat it when you got the right guys.” The cigar is lit, and the lighter isn’t empty, so Bucky reaches up for it. Frank hands it back, and it’s a little sweaty. Bucky wipes it on the front of his mud covered shirt, and shoves it in his front pocket. Rather mud, than sweat. “I want you boys to all remember who was treatin’ you good when Uncle Sam comes banging on your window. You don’t gotta go fight for those Brits. I done it last time, and are we any better off?” 

Franks puffs out a plume of smoke, and the air is still. The smoke hangs around the man’s head, and blurs his squished features. Bucky thinks of Guernica. Steve had read about it in the newspaper at the time. Pictures of the Picasso had really stuck with them. This war’s not just for the Brits, he can hear Steve saying, it’s for all of humanity.

Hitler had just taken more of Poland. Bucky looks over at Daniel, one of the guys leaning against a lamppost, who’d managed to get a beer from somewhere. He’s looking down at his boots. Bucky had covered for him when he went to post a letter to his sister in Warsaw last week. He wonders if she’ll ever get it. 

Frank clears his throat to continue. The air is not just thick with a random fall night’s heat, it’s opaque with tension, confusion, and the shared tiredness of a group of men who are just scraping by, but wanting so much more. 

Bucky’s eyes don’t leave Daniel, his sandy coloured hair falling in his eyes, in the way Steve’s does when he wakes up. His eyes are dark and sharp in the evening light, his mouth a straight line - thinking, deeply thinking. He catches Bucky’s gaze when he flicks his hair out of his eyes. Bucky takes a drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke up into the air, lying back as he exhales. He looks to his right, and Daniel’s looking down at him, his lips wrapped around the tip of his beer bottle. His fingers are slender around the bottle, his grip loose and comfortable. The corners of Bucky’s mouth curl up, and he puts his cigarette back in his mouth.

“-you gonna go to war, Barnes? Won’t be able to lie around all the time and do that, because they’re gonna shoot ya! Your own brothers! Shoot ya in the knees! My dock’s are safe. I ain’t gonna shoot ya!” Frank’s been rambling for about thirty seconds, before Bucky realises he’s addressing them all individually. Bucky’s eyebrow quirks, and he rolls around onto his forearms. His cigarette sits in the corner of his mouth. His hair is in his eye, but he lets it sit there.

“We ain’t at war, Frank. I’ll do what I need’ta do when I know I need’ta do it.” He smirks, and then gets his hair out of his eyes. Frank wasn’t expecting a response. Frank’s lips are tight around his soggy cigar, his eyes blinking like Morse code. “I’ll keep hauling your bananas ‘til Uncle Sam needs me to haul his bananas.”

Frank walks away, and Bucky thinks their conversation is over. It’s probably about twelve now. Steve will probably still be up reading, using the streetlights. He knows he made Johnny boy from upstairs food. He was making something with pasta to impress the handsome Italian, though he can’t comprehend why any Italian would eat pasta made by an Irish boy. They’d spent their childhood coveting the smells of all of the local nonna home cooking, always disappointed when it was his aunt’s watery stew or a plate of Sarah Rogers’ starchy colcannon with no meat on the side. He’d confidently say that he wasn’t big on the Irish fare of his childhood. Big and new flavours were exciting. Bucky does hope there’s some of the pasta left - even if Steve’s boiled the spaghetti for an hour, he’ll still devour it.

Two bananas fall in front of him, which pulls him out of his spaghetti reverie. He looks up, and Frank’s given all six of them bananas. “I said I treat you boys good.” Frank throws his wet cigar into the dock, and crosses his arms against his barrel chest. “Remember these bananas when your socks are wet with someone else’s piss, and there’s a Kraut trying to fuck you in the ass.”

Joe, from beside Bucky turns to face Frank. “We ain’t goin’ to war, Frank.”

“That’s what I said, and then I was in fuckin’ France!”

“When we gettin’ paid, Frank?” Joe says, his tone pointed. Bucky realises that Frank hadn’t mentioned money once. “It’s been four days since you said you was gonna pay us. I can’t pay my fuckin’ rent with bananas.” A solid point. Bucky needs to get Steve’s medicine, he feels like an ass when he asks his ma for the medicine money. Bucky stubs the butt of his cigarette out against the ground.

A bead of sweat drips down the centre of Frank’s face. He pulls up his greasy shirt, and wipes it off. “I’ll get it to ya on Thursday. We got more bananas comin’ in - the guy said his boss is gonna wire over the money in the morning. I’ll go to the bank, get the cash.” He smiles, and nods, reassuring himself. “I’m good to you boys, treat you real good.”

A glass bottle smashes against the floor. Daniel mutters a curse under his breath, and stalks off, further down the dock where the streetlamp light is fading, and glows an orange-red. “I’m going home. Keep your fuckin’ bananas, Frank.” Joe stands up, pats Bucky on the shoulder, and drops his two bananas to his feet. He pushes them towards Bucky with the cap of his boot. “See you tomorrow, Bucky.”

Bucky pulls himself up, and picks up the four bananas. “Frank, you really got to pay us, man. My best friend, he’s real sick.” Frank comes closer to Bucky, and he smells like meat and cigars. He taps on the bananas.

“They’re good for ya. Eat up.”

Bucky closes his eyes, and breathes in through his nose deeply. He hears Frank walk away, and the cigar and meat smell dissipates. He wonders if Daniel’s down by orange lights. He walks towards the lights, peeling a banana as he walks. 

Daniel walks towards him, and then they walk side by side, into the orange. Bucky eats his banana quietly, and Daniel just looks ahead. He’s slightly taller than Bucky, but he’s more slender. His upper arms are thickened from the lifting and the labour, but his forearms and fingers are delicate and long. His skin has turned golden in today’s sun, and the light gives him an unusual glow.

He speaks with a lightly accented voice. His voice is low, but soft. So different from the barking New Yorkers all around him. Bucky goes in to take another bite of his banana. “Are you bringing those to your girl?”

Bucky withdraws the fruit from between his lips. “What, Beth? Naw, she’ll think I’ve gone crazy.”

“What’s crazy about bananas?” Daniel nudges Bucky, and Bucky laughs quietly. He finishes the banana in one mouthful, and throws the skin to the ground. He hopes no one trips on it in the morning. “She’ll see when you get home though. Maybe you’ll be surprised by surprising her.” 

Bucky gets a cigarette out, and lights it. He offers one to his walking companion, who just shakes his head. He takes a deep drag, and stops walking. Daniel stops soon after him. Bucky turns his head to blow the smoke away, but it floats between them. “That’s unlikely, pal.”

The cigarette is pulled from between his fingers, and Daniel puts it between his lips, inhaling lightly. Bucky puts his three bananas on the floor. “She’s not happy with you?”

“She lives with her sister.” The orange light illuminating them flickers. “I have a roommate. Steve. I’ve known him since he was this big.” He holds out his hand, and gestures low on the floor. He smiles to himself, thinking, Steve hasn’t really got that much taller, really. “He’s a great guy, real sweet. Bit of an ass too. Don’t take anyone’s shit.”

Daniel takes one more drag on the cigarette, and lets it sit between his fingers for a moment. His exhale is above Bucky’s head. “I’d like to meet Steve someday.” Daniel looks Bucky dead in the eye, and cocks his head. Bucky’s lips part slightly, and Daniel places the cigarette between them, his fingers trailing on Bucky’s bottom lip and chin. Bucky closes his eyes, and inhales the smoke, letting it fill his lungs and his head. 

The light flickers again, and then there’s no orange light. Just a far off red light from further on down the docks. Smoke spills out of Bucky’s nostrils, and his eyes stay closed. His feet stay still on the ground. 

He opens his eyes, and Daniel has lowered himself to his knees. He rubs at Bucky’s crotch through his pants, and Bucky lets out a deep sigh. His pants and shorts have been pulled to his knees, where they catch on his stance. A hand rubs on his cock, and a thumb presses on the head. Daniel leans forward and takes him in his mouth, tongue circling him deliciously. Bucky flicks ash from his cigarette, and puts it back in his mouth. He tangles his hand in the sandy hair of Daniel, and for a moment, before Daniel looks up at him with his dark, sad eyes, it’s Steve, with his slender shoulders, and his floppy hair, and his beautiful hands. 

He thrusts forward, and Daniel gags, but Bucky hears a stifled moan. Daniel palms himself through his trousers, and then Bucky grabs onto Daniel’s hair, pulling it hard enough to hurt a little. With his spare hand, Bucky throws his dying cigarette to the ground, and mutters a quiet “fuck”. Daniel’s mouth is so wet, and his tongue feels so good against the underside of his cock, and his hand is kneading Bucky’s ass cheek, and sometimes his finger dips between the cleft, and that sends a shiver up Bucky’s spine. He hums against Bucky’s cock, and then Bucky proceeds to fuck into his mouth, biting his own lip as not to moan aloud. 

He hopes Steve has gone to sleep.

Daniel is moaning as Bucky thrusts into his mouth. Bucky’s hips stutter, and Daniel’s hand comes hard against Bucky’s ass, and then Bucky groans, and pulls on Daniel’s hair, pumping his come into Daniel’s willing mouth. He takes it all, and when Bucky’s cock falls out of his mouth, he smiles and licks his lips.

He raises from his knees, and stands tall, and Bucky falls into him, pressing his bitten, probably bleeding, lips against Daniel’s. He tastes himself, musky, on Daniel’s tongue, and his hand snakes down to find Daniel’s achingly hard erection. 

Bucky would get down on his knees, but Daniel seems content with just his hand, and their lips and tongues together. His rhythm on the other man is slow to start, but Daniel keens against his tongue, and he moves faster, and his hair is getting tugged at, and he moans against Daniel. That was new.

Daniel’s mouth separates from Bucky’s, and his lips trail along his jaw, stubble coming in fresh, and he’s sighing gently, his hips moving vigorously against Bucky’s tight fist. Bucky tightens his grip every third pump of Daniel’s hips, and then teeth clamp down on Bucky’s neck, and lips suck. His hand is filled with hot come. Daniel shivers, and kisses Bucky on the lips once more, deeply, bites on his bottom lip, and separates. He grabs onto Bucky’s hand, and licks some of his release from his palm. “Dirty.” Bucky smirks, and Daniel runs his index finger through it, placing his finger gently on Bucky’s tongue. Bucky sucks on the other man’s finger, and swallows down the taste. Their eyes meet, and Bucky sucks harder. Daniel withdraws his finger.

He bends down and picks up his bananas from the floor with his soiled hand - he’ll rinse them when he gets in. “I should get home.” Bucky runs his clean hand through the slick of hair in his face. “You live nearby?” Daniel points his thumb away from the direction that Bucky’s got to go. “Alright, see you tomorrow? Hopefully no more bananas, right?”

The man shrugs, and smiles sadly. “You should care about what’s going on at home, Bucky.” His name sounds strange in this man’s mouth. Bucky cocks his head, he doesn’t understand. “The war.”

His eyes widen. He laughs. “The Irish ain’t getting involved. Anyway, most of the family’s over here. We’ll be fine.”

Daniel looks back at him plainly. “You’re Jewish, no?”

Bucky crosses his arms and bananas against his chest. “Well, my ma is, she’s traditional, but- most of the family’s over here. We’ll be fine.”

The plain look across Daniel’s face doesn’t fade. “It’s the principle, Bucky. Remember.” He steps forward, and kisses Bucky’s cheek. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” His voice trails after Daniel’s retreating figure.

He hopes Steve has gone to sleep.

He walks home slowly. The streets are fairly quiet. He avoids any bars. A bruise is blooming on his neck, and he hopes nobody notices it. People walk past him, and they barely notice him with his handful of bananas. 

There’s no one outside the apartment. He’s grateful. He tries to climb the stairs quietly, he knows where they creak, and how to avoid stepping on that wood.

His hand curls around the doorknob, and he slowly turns it, slowly pushes it open. Steve’s on the mattress, shirtless, a thin greying sheet covering his hips. He looks beautiful. Bucky stands and stares. He wishes it had been Steve not Daniel. He wishes it was Steve’s handprint burning into his buttock. He wishes it was Steve’s come that he could still taste on his tongue.

The bananas need rinsing.

The tap runs on them, and he dampens a cloth, wiping at the base of his neck where the Brylcreem has settled. He wipes at the bruising bite under his jaw. He wipes at his lips, trying to rid himself of Daniel.

There’s a rustle from the mattress. Steve rubs his eyes, and sits up. He clears his throat, “Buck? That you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Work okay?”

“Yeah, it was fine.” He wrings the cloth out in the sink, and pulls the bananas out. “I got fruit.”

“Are those bananas, Buck?”

Bucky chuckles, “Yeah, Stevie. Real sweet ones too. They’d go nice with some pancakes. Fluffy ones.”

“I ain’t makin’ pancakes at one in the mornin’, jerk.” Steve flops back down onto the mattress, and the springs creak even under his body. “There’s a bowl for you on the side. It’ll be cold, but it was real tasty.”

Bucky looks to his right, and there’s a small bowl of spaghetti with red sauce. The pasta does look a bit sad, but he doesn’t mind. “Thanks, Stevie. Looks beautiful.” Steve harrumphs. “Sleep well, I’ll see ya tomorrow.”

More grumbling, “It is tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Bucky eats his food quietly, and looks out of the open window. A breeze is coming in. He should shut it.

The light outside is amber, like a falling leaf. Bucky bites on his thumbnail, and puts his bowl in the sink. He strips down to his shorts, and gently lowers himself onto the mattress. Steve turns to face him, and his eyes open so very slightly, his long lashes dusting the tops of his cheeks.

Bucky lies down, and reaches his hand out. He strokes Steve’s angular cheek, and with his thumb, brushes any stray hairs off from his face. 

He falls asleep with his fingers threaded through Steve’s sandy blond hair. He’ll wake with it tickling against the back of his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wasn't what i planned but i really like it. i've done so much banana research i think i'm going insane. 
> 
> sorry bucky and steve haven't had sex yet, but i'm trying
> 
> if anything's inaccurate, please let me know, and i'll do more research!
> 
> shouldn't be too long before the final part.
> 
> love ya x


	3. now i'm in the spaceship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A bum got stabbed outside their apartment while Bucky was at work. Mrs Cohen tells him everything she thinks she saw as they stand outside and wait for the cops to clear the scene. Steve’s still inside, and probably has no clue what’s going on out here._
> 
> Bucky's desperate to get home.

A bum got stabbed outside their apartment while Bucky was at work. Mrs Cohen tells him everything she thinks she saw as they stand outside and wait for the cops to clear the scene. Steve’s still inside, and probably has no clue what’s going on out here.

Mrs Cohen holds onto Bucky’s wrist with her one spindly hand, and a damp handkerchief with the other. No one really knows why she’s crying. Bucky won’t ask, because whatever he asks will be offensive to her in some manner, because it always is. She smells like powder and soap flakes, and it isn’t an unpleasant combination.

“He was still grippin’ onto his stick and his bindle even after he died. His whole life and home on his back. Tragic life - tragic! Wasted. So many wasted lives in this town.” She grips onto his wrist harder and shakes it to punctuate her sentence. She pulls the handkerchief up to wipe at a non-existent tear. 

Bucky doubts the guy had a fucking stick and bindle. It’s Brooklyn, not somewhere deep in Missouri. Life on his back, like a fucking snail. Give him strength. “Did you see him, Mrs Cohen? Must have been hard to look at a dead guy like that.” He pats her hand reassuringly, and hopes that she’ll loosen her grip.

She mustn’t have seen the man, because she’s out here with him with a bag full of groceries. Unless she’d walked past him in the first place. Unless she’d done the deed.

Mrs Cohen pulls her hand back like Bucky’s skin was on fire. She slaps him across his bicep, and then pushes up her thick glasses. “No, I didn’t look at him. I felt him.” She tucks a loose strand of her greying brown hair behind her ear, and then touches her chest, indicating her ownership of a heart somewhere in there, “You should have some compassion, young man. He could’a been someone’s son.”

That went without saying. Bucky doesn’t verbalise that, and shifts his eyes. “Right, well, great to see you as always, Mrs Cohen. I should go.” He starts to back away from the woman and from the apartment building. “I’m going to go that way.” She wipes at the corner of her eye again. “If you see Steve, tell him I’ll be back soon.” She opens her mouth to speak, and Bucky all but runs around the block, where he then stands, and lights a cigarette.

There’s a real deep chill in the air today. After the heat of yesterday, Bucky and Steve had assumed that it would stick around a little longer and give them a sweet little Indian Summer. They’d said that they’d go to Coney Island on Friday if the weather was still nice, maybe take a dip. Bucky would rather cut his left hand off than see Steve go in the ocean when there was a chill in the air like this.

They’d go to the pictures instead, maybe watch some cartoons. They were smoky and made Steve cough, but he’d go without Bucky anyway. He’d had to leave halfway through  _ the Wizard of Oz _ to have an asthma attack that took him out for four days afterwards. He went to finish the film without Bucky five days afterwards while he was out at work. Less smoke he said. Bucky’s still annoyed.

He throws his cigarette to the ground, and crushes it beneath his shoe. He immediately lights another, and starts to walk the block. 

He walks around, and around, and around, and he smokes his entire pack, waiting for the police car to go, so he can go and wash the grime off from the back of his neck, wash the dirt off his face. He needs to take a leak too, but his aimless circling has distracted him from that urge. He stops in an alleyway, and he takes care of that there.

Bucky stops at a newsstand, and picks up a fresh carton of cigarettes. He stares down at the newspaper. The war rumbles on in parliamentary discussions across the pond. He wonders how long it’ll be before he’s filling in his draft card. He needs to absorb every feeling and every moment that passes him, and that he passes.

The cops are gone. The bum’s blood is still on the floor of the hallway when he enters his key into the door. He’s sure someone will clean it up at some point.

Steve isn’t in. That throws Bucky through a loop. He looks around the apartment, checks all of the corners, checks the floor, checks the window sill. Steve’s out. Bucky strips down to his shorts, and puts two pans to boil on the stove. He’s filthy.

He takes the plank of wood and tablecloth off the top of the tub, and puts in his two pans of boiling water. Two pans of the water from the tap makes his shallow little puddle of bathing water cool enough to sit in. He pours one more pan for his hair, and sets that beside the bath. He pulls the makeshift curtain, a moth eaten bedsheet from his ma’s linen cupboard, across, and sinks down into the small tub. 

The water comes up to his ankles, but it’s enough, and his shoulders slowly relax, and loosen up from work. He rinses his hair, and scrubs at his scalp with the harsh bar of soap until there’s a bit of lather coming from his strands, and when his scalp feels like it’s on fire a bit. He uses that lather to wash everywhere else. 

The colour of the water is grey. He must have smelt worse than he felt. He touches at the bruise on his neck and presses, closing his eyes. He hadn’t spoken with Daniel much today, but they’d shared a knowing glance, a tender smile, and when they both left for the day, Bucky’s hand may have lingered slightly too long on his shoulder. 

He knows some of the guys from the docks were meeting down at a bar nearby for a drink later. If Steve doesn’t come back from wherever he is, maybe Bucky will go. The idea of drunkenly giving head in a dark alleyway thrills him a little. A hand pulling on his hair, whilst the other strokes his face, thumb grazing where his lips are stretched around the cock in his mouth. 

Maybe Bucky will call on Beth. If Steve doesn’t come back. They’ll walk around the park, lit by the streetlamps. He’ll kiss her chastely. Then maybe she’ll let him come back to her apartment, they’ll slink past her sisters, and he’ll manage to get his hand in her panties, rubbing her gently until she quietly shudders under him. She won’t take her top off, so Bucky won’t manage to see her tits, no matter how convincing his hand is. She won’t jerk him off either. 

He should stop seeing Beth, really. It’s not going anywhere, and he doesn’t see where he can take it. But it’s really only been a month, he supposes if he’s patient more could come of it.

He’s half hard, but he leaves it. He focuses on getting the soap out of his hair, without getting any in his eyes. He succeeds, and then lies back, closing his eyes. He dozes.

When he opens his eyes, the apartment is slowly darkening. There is a glow coming through the window that only seems to come in fall, and the streetlight outside is helping. His water is stone cold, and his feet have pruned up. He pulls across the curtain, and steps out of the tub, wrapping a holey towel around his waist. “Steve? You in?” His voice bounces around the walls of the apartment, and he’s still alone.

His watch says it’s quarter to seven, so he puts on a vest and a pair of shorts, and decides that if Steve hasn’t come by eight, he’ll head down to the bar, and grab a whiskey or two. Hopefully his Polish friend will be there. 

Whiskey does sound nice, so he pours a finger of the cheap shit he keeps in the cupboard, and he takes a sip. It burns on its way down, but his veins sing with the heat. He takes his place in front of the mirror, turning on the side lamp, and he combs through his hair, the pomade caught in the teeth of the comb helps him to get a loose shape. If necessary, he’ll comb more through it, but he’s still feeling sleepy. He’ll shave in the morning. His lips are dry though, so he takes the small tub of Vaseline, and smears some across his mouth.

The apartment is quiet. He’s still alone. He finishes his whiskey, and pours a little more, knocking that back, before heading to the mattress on the floor, with the tub of Vaseline, and a niggling sense of incoming shame. The stain on the ceiling doesn’t look so bad anymore. He pulls the sheets over his head, and he’s overwhelmed with the smell of Steve. Soap, menthol, and warm, so very Steve. He can smell aftershave too, and he doesn’t know why. Bucky shimmies his shorts down to his calves, and wraps his hand around himself. 

It doesn’t take long for him to work himself to a point of arousal that made his veins feel almost as hot as the whiskey making its way around him. His hand is slow, the rough pad of his thumb rubbing against the head of his cock on every stroke. He reaches his free hand out, and dips his fingers into the tub of Vaseline. He wipes his fingers on the side of the tub so he doesn’t have too much, and then he runs his fingers down the cleft of his ass, his index finger pressing gently against the hole there. His hips thrust off the bed, and his chest heaves as that finger shallowly dips in and out of him.

His head swims, and he sees Daniel, his mouth filled with Bucky’s length, his hand rubbing against his own erection, trapped by tight pants. He sees the desperation and desire in Daniel’s eyes, as Bucky comes in his mouth.

He sees Beth’s plush, pink lips part as she comes, her pulse racing against his wet mouth, and her cunt fluttering around his two fingers. He sees her nipples hard through her dress, and her shiver as he squeezes her small breasts through her clothes.

He sees Steve, it’s three in the morning, and his cock is hard, and he’s pressing himself against Bucky’s leg, grinding down until he’s sated, still asleep, and he rolls over. He sees Steve’s come on his thigh, and he tastes it, and it’s salty and earthy, and-

The door’s opening. Bucky hears Steve laugh from outside. This won’t be the first time Steve walks into this, so Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, and wills himself to continue. 

Steve’s through the door, and Bucky can feel his eyes glancing around the apartment, looking for a sign of life other than the lamp switched on beside the mirror. “Bucky? You in?” His voice sounds light, and happy, and a little tipsy. “We saved you a glass of wine, Buck, it’s real fruity. John said it’s from Tuscany, where the good grapes come from.” Fucking John. That’s the fucking aftershave.

Bucky lifts his head from under the sheets, still holding himself in his hand. Steve’s sitting at the table, looking at Bucky. “Stevie, you got real bad timing.” Bucky uses his other hand to support him, pressing his forearm into the mattress. “Gimme five minutes, and then I’ll happily talk to you about Johnny boy’s fucking wine.”

Their eyes lock. Bucky sets his jaw, and starts to move his hand again, faster this time. Steve’s lips have been stained with the wine, and his pupils are dark. Bucky twitches. This should either make Steve leave, or- “You’re so beautiful, Buck. Honestly. You should see yourself right now.” Steve’s voice is low, and Bucky seems harder than ever.

“Fuck, Stevie.” He almost whines, and his hand just doesn’t feel like enough.

“Want me to take care of you?”

Bucky nods shamelessly, and Steve slowly approaches their mattress. He takes his shoes off, and leaves them at the end, where he always does. He unbuttons his shirt, and gently tosses it away. He climbs onto the mattress beside Bucky, and touches Bucky’s shoulder. He turns to face Steve.

Bucky reflects. They haven’t done this since they were about fifteen, and Steve was meant to be sleeping on Bucky’s floor in his parents’ house, but it was so cold, and Bucky couldn’t let him stay cold on the floor, when he could warm him up real nice.

Steve’s hand reaches out, and he looks up to Bucky, so he grabs Steve’s hand, and guides him down to his erection. Instinct seems to take over, and Bucky writhes under Steve’s hand, his breath getting heavy. “Fuck, Stevie, you’re so good, that’s so good.” Steve chews on his wine stained bottom lip, and his eyes refuse to look up from Bucky’s chest.

He puts a hand under Steve’s chin, and tilts his face. Bucky crashes down onto Steve’s mouth, and Steve stills. The kiss is wet, and Steve’s mouth is cold, and tart like fresh blackberries, and Bucky wants it all, so he bites down into that plush bottom lip, and he sucks. Steve groans deeply, and reaches his free hand out, twisting his fingers in Bucky’s freshly done hair, and gently tugging on it. 

Bucky shivers at the sensation, so Steve pulls a little harder, and Bucky outright moans, fucking into Steve’s tight fist with a furious pace. He pulls his hand from Steve’s face, and unbuttons his pants, pulling down the shorts underneath, and hoping Steve pulls them down further, which he does, untangling his hand from Bucky’s hair. “Come with me, Stevie.” He whispers against Steve’s swollen mouth.

“Always, Buck.” Steve’s clothes fall off the end of the mattress. He reaches his hands up, and cups Bucky’s face, their lips barely touching, the kisses so gentle. They get closer and closer, and Bucky deepens the kiss, his tongue stroking Steve’s, whilst their cocks blindly rub against each other. Bucky’s hand helps them to establish a rhythm, and it’s so good that Steve has to pull back from the kiss to catch his breath, and then to bite down on Bucky’s shoulder.

His hand moves them quicker, and his grip tightens, and Steve’s marking him, and their cocks feel so good together, in his hand, and his vision whites, spilling himself all over Steve’s flat stomach. Steve looks up at him with eyes filled with longing and desire, and he kisses him firmly. Bucky’s soft against Steve, who is so hard and so gorgeous, and they fit just right together, spilling out of his hand. “Let me lick you, Stevie, I’ll make it so good.” Steve’s eyes are closed, and he nods, grabbing Bucky’s hand, and kissing his knuckles.

He rolls onto his back, and Bucky follows, straddling Steve. He takes off his vest, and uses it to wipe his release from Steve’s chest. He kisses his way down, and stops to pause at his bright pink nipples, nibbling and sucking on them in a way that he’s dreamt about doing for years. Steve thrusts up at this, and his cock sits itself between Bucky’s ass cheeks. He clenches, and Steve hisses, thrusting again, gliding nicely from the residue of the Vaseline. His hands hold onto Bucky’s hips, giving him control, squeezing tighter on the bones as he gets faster. 

Bucky wishes that he knew this was on the cards before he went to bed, and wishes that he hadn’t worked himself up so much that Steve was going to be coming alone, coming on Bucky’s back. He reaches behind him to grasp Steve’s cock, and Steve looks dejected, shocked. “I said I was gonna lick you, pal, I got it in my head now.” He lets go of Steve, and shuffles down the mattress, kneeling between Steve’s spread legs. “Can’t stop a man on a mission - you’ve said it yourself.”

Steve laughs, and leans up on his forearms. “I usually say that when I’m on my way to get my face caved in, you jerk.” 

At this angle, all of his bones show through his marble skin, his muscles sinewy, and he really does look like a classical sculpture - some kind of otherworldly creature. There’s a bead of pre-come at the tip of Steve’s length, and Bucky licks it off, and Steve groans. He takes the head into his mouth, and swirls his tongue, applying pressure with his lips, and twisting his wrist to move his hand against the rest of Steve.

He takes more of Steve in, he grazes the back of Bucky’s throat, and saliva spills from Bucky’s red mouth, his lips tight around Steve. Hands come down on Bucky’s head, and he’s pushed further down onto Steve’s cock than he knew was possible, and Steve fucks desperately into Bucky’s mouth, words of adoration spilling out of his mouth so so quietly that they’re barely audible, and then they turn into deep, dirty curses that rise from the base of Steve’s throat. He pulls on Bucky’s hair as he comes, refusing to let Bucky off to spit out his release.

Bucky swallows it all. He takes his mouth off of Steve, and leans his sweaty forehead on Steve’s hip, his lips swollen, and his throat raw. Steve flops back onto the mattress, and Bucky catches his hand. They find their breath. They’ve never done that before.

He looks up, and Steve has a hand on his forehead, and a smile on his face. Steve swallows, his thumb stroking Bucky’s knuckles. “Buck,” his voice is pleasant, casual almost. Bucky kisses his hip, and looks up at him. “Thank you.”

“No problem, Stevie. My pleasure.”

Steve laughs. “Shut up, you jerk.” He flicks Bucky on the forehead.

They look at each other and smile. Steve looks sheepish. “You kissed me, Buck.”

“Did I really? Hmm.” Bucky kisses Steve’s hip again, and sits back on his heels. “I need a smoke.”

“It was real nice.”

“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it.” Bucky cocks his head at Steve, and laughs. “We should do it again, sometime.”

Steve’s cheeks flush. He looks down, and focuses on his knee. “You can smoke in the window if you want. Saves you having to go downstairs.” Bucky nods, and simultaneously rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know, you don’t like it. But didn’t you hear, some guy died outside today?”

Bucky finds his shorts in the tangle of the sheets, and pulls them on. He stands to get his cigarettes from the table, and puts his hands on his hips. “Oh really? I was stuck outside for half the fuckin’ day! Fuckin’ dead guy outside our apartment, his blood’s still on the fuckin’ floor.”

Now Steve rolls his eyes, pulling his shorts and pants back up. “Oh how inconvenient for James Buchanan Barnes. A guy dies, and Bucky gets stuck outside, boo-hoo. I can see it now, starring Cary Grant - in lights: ‘The Big Smoker’. Guy smokes a whole carton of cigarettes because a bum dies outside of his shitty tenement. A real tragedy.” Bucky snorts, and pulls up the window, perching on the sill, and lighting his cigarette.

“It’s like you were there.” The first drag is sweet. “Mrs Cohen said it was a real tragedy. She was crying.”

Steve puts the kettle on to boil on the stovetop. He spoons half a teaspoon of instant coffee into a chipped cup. He looks to Bucky, who shakes his head. “Of course she was, probably knew him. She probably stabbed him, thinking ‘bout it.”

“Don’t insult your elders, Steven. She’d die for you.”

Steve mumbles, “Not if she stabs me first.”

“Can’t fuckin’ believe this slander that I’m hearin’.” Bucky blows his smoke out of the window, and looks down, where the orange and red leaves carpet the sidewalk. A car drives by, interrupts the brief stillness.

“You goin’ out tonight, Buck?” He comes to sit beside Bucky whilst his kettle boils. He’s on the floor, never caring about the smoke or the cold. His hand wraps around Bucky’s ankle, and his thumb strokes his Achilles’ tendon.

Bucky looks at Steve, and he smiles. “Naw, got a glass of wine here I’d rather drink than any swill I could get out there.” Steve presses his face against Bucky’s swinging leg, his face smooth against the hair on Bucky’s calf. “I think I’m gonna call it off with Beth.”

A smirk hides against Bucky’s calf. “Really, why?” That smirk turns into a gentle kiss. “I thought you were pretty sweet on her.”

“It just ain’t workin’ for me.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, what can you do?”

The kettle begins to whistle. Steve gets up, and Bucky blows out a plume of smoke. It floats up into the inky sky like feathers. He throws his cigarette to the ground, and turns back into the apartment.

Steve puts his lips on Bucky’s. The kettle whistles. It feels good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay - that's the end of that! i hope you enjoyed, i really really really enjoyed writing it. i love writing bucky's perspective so so much, he's so cool.
> 
> there's about 1000 references in these three chapters, and at some points, i've really had to hold myself back. i'd really never realised the similarities between buster bluth and bucky barnes until this chapter, lol. also sorry if there's inaccuracies in americanisms - i'm very british (wow - can't escape it) so sometimes things just feel normal, but then they're not normal in other places, places like new york.
> 
> theoretically, this is the second part of a four part series based on the seasons, but i don't trust myself to promise that (and i go back to work in four days haha), but i'd like to put it into the universe!
> 
> anyway, thank you once again for reading, for your supportive comments. if you didn't hate, consider leaving me some kudos hehe! i'm a simple gal with simple needs.
> 
> story title and chapter titles from conversations part 1 by mac miller - a real gem of a song if you haven't listened.
> 
> if you enjoyed this, there is a part in the series written before this. if i go for that seasons thing, that’d be summer. i still think it bangs lol, so maybe have a look.
> 
> thanks again - love ya xxx

**Author's Note:**

> haven't written in years and i'm just having fun! this should be a 3 part story.
> 
> if you're enjoying this, please comment, helps with the self esteem lol!
> 
> story and chapter titles are from conversations part 1 by mac miller.


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